


I put ghosts in fear

by lanyon



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Community: trope_bingo, Darth Cap, Disfigurement, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:58:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America crashes his jet onto the surface of Boreas. It’s all there on infra-red, blazing red diminishing with every passing, failing heartbeat, transmitted to every news outlet, on every planet and space station in the Union. </p><p>Captain America, you must understand, is a hero for our Age. You know that. You don’t need me to tell you that. </p><p>Captain America, though, was not what he seemed. You’ll remember that, won’t you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I put ghosts in fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haipollai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/gifts).



> + **Warnings** for graphic depiction of violence, and disfiguration, and for making Steve hurt, a lot.

Captain America’s death is a tragedy, at first. It does not become a scandal until later. But first. First. 

Captain America crashes his jet onto the surface of Boreas. It’s all there on infra-red, blazing red diminishing with every passing, failing heartbeat, transmitted to every news outlet, on every planet and space station in the Union. 

Captain America, you must understand, is a hero for our Age. You know that. You don’t need me to tell you that. 

Captain America, though, was not what he seemed. You’ll remember that, won’t you?

.

When the news of Cap’s death floods every transmission, Sergeant James Barnes, of the 107th Aerial Corps, is in a bar near Base Station. They take a moment; of course they do. Everyone stands up, clutching their hats to their chests and there’s a moment of silence; sixty Earth-seconds (it took him longer to die, thinks James Barnes). 

They sit down and wrap their hands around their pints and let the chill breath of mortality wheeze over them for a few seconds more and then Dum-Dum punches James in the arm. 

“You know what this means, right?” 

James pauses, glass part-way to his lips. He raises an eyebrow.

“Means you were probably Captain America’s last lay. Hope you made it a good one.” 

James grins. “‘Course it was good, Dugan. It was fucking transcendent. It was _me_.”

.

The thing is, it’s easy to have a girl in every port, or a boy, or neither, or both. James is in a bar near Tartarus, at the edge of the Red Zone. Missions to Tartarus are exciting at best and lethal at worst. 

(Have you heard the one about the super soldier who walks into a bar?)

When Captain America walks in, everyone goes still, just for a breath. There’s a mild hum of appreciation and everyone turns back to their drinks. It doesn’t do to make eye contact for long in a space station so far from home. Everyone turns back to their drinks except for James but no one ever said he was smart. He tilts his chin up, all challenge, and Captain America hesitates. 

It’s the kind of hesitation that wins or loses wars. It’s the kind of hesitation that pulls James to his feet, a slender thread of will-he-won’t-he and now he’s walking towards Captain America, actual Captain America, who’s standing there all tall and heroic in full uniform. 

“Looking for a good time, soldier?” he asks, or he thinks he asks, or he wants to ask.

It’s hard to see Captain America’s expression under the cowl but his eyes widen and then his fingers hook over James’s utility belt and he says, softly, “I have a room upstairs.”

(Of course he has a room upstairs. He’s Captain America. He’d never have to stay in the barracks.)

.

So, Captain America dies and that’s sad and the media keep playing the moment of his death, over and over, and James has to look away and be suddenly, fiercely grateful that he’s not completely desensitised to death. 

.

The truth emerges, after a few weeks (Earth-weeks,though they feel so much longer, like Venus-weeks or Chronos-weeks, that drag on for lifetimes).

Captain America was born Steven Grant Rogers on Delos, a small nothing-planet with no resources and an over-abundance of people, predominantly humanoid. To this day, it is known as the Orphanage Planet because of all the children left behind. 

Steve Rogers was born with a list of ailments that should have been entirely incompatible with life. He fought, though. He was on his own, at first. Then, he made a friend, called Bucky, and they fought together until the day that Steve was taken away for Project Rebirth. The matrons called it puppy love and the psychologists called it co-dependency and both children screamed and wept as they were torn apart.

Project Rebirth was not a training programme, despite what the propaganda says. Isaiah Bradley is the first to tell the truth, after Captain America dies. 

He says that Steve was eleven years old, he was brought to Palaestra, a huge planet-shaped ship. He says that Steve was the bravest child he had ever seen. 

.

Even the brave ones break and maybe they break the hardest, into the most pieces. 

.

Captain America’s room is a suite. It’s climate-controlled and James asks him where he grew up, that the temperature is set so cool.

Captain America smiles and it’s beautiful and he says, softly, “I’m not allowed to say.” His lips quirk into something more wry. “It’s classified.” 

It turns out that everything about Captain America is classified, including his name. He looks a little distressed when James asks if he’s a robot.

“‘Cause, seriously, I’d this thing with an android on Cephalus once. It was hot but, you know, I’ve definitely not had enough to drink for a repeat performance.” James chances a smile. “It was one of those Starkbots, you know? Really big-” He gestures and then sighs. “Really not drunk enough.”

“I can’t get drunk,” says Captain America. 

“Not really persuading me about the robot thing, man,” says James. “Say, why don’t you take off the hood?”

Captain America shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “If it’s weird, we can just stop-”

“Oh, fuck, no,” says James. “I got you here, don’t I? I can deal with a little weirdness.”

.

“I’m Bucky Barnes,” he says, on his first day at the orphanage. 

“I’m Steve,” says the little kid in sick bay. 

“We can be friends,” says Bucky, generously. 

“Always?” asks Steve and, because hours and days mean nothing to an orphan, because infinities and eternities mean everything, Bucky nods. 

“Sure,” he says. “Always. I got you, buddy.”

.

James breaks down. There is no other way to describe it. He, along with every other free person in the Union, listens to Bradley’s testimony before the transmission is killed. This is the truth that the men of Palaestra never wanted anyone to hear: Captain America, all the Captain Americas, were not moulded into greatness; greatness was carved into them, sometimes brutally. 

No one knows how Bradley broke his programming. James thinks that maybe Steve broke his programming, days too late for James to save him. 

Steve _would_ crash-land if he thought it was for the greater good. 

James breaks down and then he pulls himself together and he takes his jet and he defects. 

It is that simple. 

He flies to the Red Room and they ask why he is there. 

Revenge, he says. 

They cluster around him, like spiders in a web, and ask what price he would pay, to bring down the Union. He rolls up his left sleeve. 

.

The cowl stays on but the uniform comes off and Captain America’s body is breath-taking. There are some scars; a long white line up the front of his thigh because Aresians fight with swords. Wicked-sharp, and James knows it. 

James falls on Captain America’s body like a starving man, a drowning man and Captain America makes the sweetest sounds. James’s fingers curl around his cock and he grins as Captain America’s perfect jaw clenches and he sighs and says, yes, Sergeant, yes-

Captain America’s thighs quiver and when James works a finger inside, he wonders how long it’s been since Captain America has been on leave. Maybe things are different on Palaestra but James will always help a fella out, even if they’re on base and not supposed to be fraternising. 

When Captain America has been scissored open, he gets on his hands and knees and James isn’t gonna complain because Captain America’s back is an unkissed expanse of smooth skin and bunched-up muscle. James rolls on a condom, slicks himself up and slides home and, fuck, James shoulda known Captain America would be the best lay he’s had in years. 

.

The rebellion is not swift and it is bloody. The Red Room starts with Palaestra and systematically begins the destruction of the whole Union. Presidents and kings and queens are led out and shot. The Red Room puts guns and phasers and swords and bombs into the hands of the people. 

The Red Room joins forces with Nick Fury’s Shield and with James’s old unit, the Commandos. James meets a girl and they fuck in throne rooms and war rooms. They keep fucking when Stark Industries joins the revolution, and when Asgard adds its strength to the cause. They keep fucking till Natasha meets Peggy Carter, who’s the scariest broad James has ever met. 

He is no longer James. He is the Union’s worst nightmare. He is the Winter Soldier, avenging the death of Captain America. Some say that he’s the ghost of Captain America himself, risen from the snows of Boreas. Some say that his left hand is colder than ice. 

.

Captain America sleeps. James doesn’t know why he’s surprised at this because the guy’s a guy, for all that he’s enhanced. 

Captain America sleeps, flat out on his back, and James can’t resist touching. His fingers glide over Captain America’s chest and down his stomach. He presses his mouth to the skin of Captain America’s shoulder and his fingers touch his jaw and then James touches _something_ at the side of Captain America’s cowl and-

\- and

“ _No_ ,” whispers James, before he can help it. “ _Fuck_ , no.”

Captain America’s face, or that place where there should be a face, is all but destroyed. Oh, there’s a nose and there are eyes, but his eyelids are scarred and he has no eyebrows. There is shiny skin over most of his head, like it’s newly healing, and blonde hair grows in baby tufts here and there over his scalp. James leans closer. He can’t help it. He needs to see. There are scars. Dozens of them, maybe even hundreds and - these aren’t Aresian blades or Bian bullet-holes. These are surgical scars. Healed and healing and scabbed over. 

James holds his breath. Captain America’s mouth, which James hasn’t kissed, is scarred, too. He is missing part of his lower lip. 

James tries to quash a hysterical laugh that threatens to bubble over. Captain America, the Union’s greatest prize, is lying in bed, trusting and asleep, and he is the furthest thing from perfection. 

James’s gaze flickers towards Captain America’s closed eyes and he wonders how a man can look so sad, even while sleeping. He fumbles with the cowl again and the image transducer flickers back and there, he is perfect. 

James lies back down, resting his head on Captain America’s chest, listening to his sturdy, steady heart rate. He has seen torture before but never so close and he wonders that this man can function at all.

.

When the revolution is over and the blood is washed away, everyone looks to the Winter Soldier, the great symbol of victory. 

What next for the hero of the rebellion? Medals, no doubt, and all the men and women and others that he could want. 

Or this: a pilgrimage to Boreas, though landing there is a fool’s game. 

.

(“What’s your name?” James tries. 

“I can’t tell you.” Captain America’s gaze flickers down and then he looks at James. “I wish I could tell you. I really do.”

“I’m - well. Maybe I won’t tell you,” says James. He tries not to see Captain America’s disappointment. 

“Where are you from?”

James lies. Later, he’ll hate himself for it but he has been so used to lying. Delos is not a birthplace of heroes so he has always said that he is from the Hysminai and that he was born to be a warrior.)

.

Captain America’s - no, Steve - Steve’s shuttle is buried under eighteen feet of solid ice. It has been four years since the accident. It is time for him to be buried, properly. Maybe on Delos, a birthplace of heroes, now that the Winter Soldier has come clean. 

Except.

Except that Captain America is breathing. The corporal who pulls his cowl away lets out a noise of pure disgust and the Winter Soldier elbows him aside. 

Scarred eyelids flutter open and the side of his mouth that can smile curves up a little. His tears freeze to his skin. 

The Winter Soldier kisses his lips because he can. Because he wants to. Because this is better than medals.

The Winter Soldier picks him up, tucking his face against his chest. “I got you, buddy,” he whispers, though the wind snatches the words away. "I got you."

**Author's Note:**

> +Title is from Ovid and all the planets, etc, are taken straight from Greek mythology.  
> +If you picture Steve as being a little like Darth Vader without his helmet on, well. You're not the only one.


End file.
